


My Old Life

by KendylGirl



Series: At Midnight [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M, New Beginnings, POV Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Past and Present Collide to form a Future, Self-Discovery, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: As the clock ticks toward midnight, Oliver bids farewell to the life he leaves behind.





	My Old Life

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has sprung from the same mysterious well as “Our Midnight” and proves to me that these boys will never be done inspiring me. It volleys between past tense and present tense, emblematic of the divided self that is our Oliver--the one who followed the expected path and the one that follows his true path. Here, literally and figuratively, he leaves his old life in the past to pursue his life with Elio, the one for which he is fully present.
> 
> Thank you once again to Willowbrooke for helping me find order in the significant chaos!

The air is a thicket, the oppression of a closed room.It’s an intrusion of history on the present day, like a party guest who did not have the sense to depart when a new day dawned.

"When," My Old Life asked, "did he steal you away from me?" 

I smile, "But he didn't.You belong to him, too."

“That cannot be!” it gasped.“We have never met!”

My smirk is directed at the ground.“You did, it just feels so long ago.”

“Tell me,” it demanded.“Make me understand.”

“I was alone, a very young child.I picked up a book.”My eyes are closed.“Does that sound familiar?”

It scoffed, “But you have picked up so many.How am I to know which one?”

“It doesn’t matter what was printed on the spine.”My face captures a sunbeam.“Did you see him between the pages?”

It was unimpressed.“So you hid him from me?That was not fair.”

I sigh patiently.“All right, then.Have you seen the moon?”

My Old Life hesitated.“Of course.”

“But did you really look at it, long enough to marvel at it?Long enough to wonder if it was looking back at you?Long enough to see the face, gazing upon you—just _you—_ out of all the jealous eyes that tried to own it?”

“Which simply means everyone knows about that face,” it tells me, words lined in lead.“It is not _special_.It didn’t have a name.”

I have to chuckle.“Just because you didn’t _know_ the name doesn’t mean the name does not exist.He was there.His name was unspoken.”

“That is meaningless,” it announced.“You could have been asleep and merely dreamed it.”

“True enough,” I allow.It seems to need my kindness.“So what about the clouds?”

“What about them?”

“Their shape, their texture.That was him as well.Couldn’t you tell?”

“Which ones looked like him?”

“All of them.”

“Mere coincidence.”

“Why would you think that?You can look up right now and see the curves of his face!”

It shook its head firmly.“He would not be there after all this time!Once the rains come, the clouds disappear.”

My finger wags at it.“But they always reform, don’t they?The sun pulls them from the ground to fill the sky along with it.”

“Ridiculous.”It remained unbending.“The next thing you’ll say is that he spoke to me.”

“He did.”

“No, I would remember!I replay every conversation I’ve ever had.I would have weighed and analyzed and evaluated every word he would have said!”

I smile.“I know that.”I scratch my neck.“He must have, too.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because he spoke as music. The rustle of grass, the hiss of a waterfall.”

It groaned.“Oliver, you sound insane.”

“Why is that insane?”

“He could not have spoken in those languages.”

“Really?He speaks many languages.”

“But these do not have a translation.”

“Do they need one?”

“If you had wanted to answer him!”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.I had no words to offer him when I knew you.”

“Fine—if you had wanted to _understand_ him.”

My cheeks are warm.“My heart understood every word."

“You lie!”

I watch it howl and rage, but it does not bother me.I feel sorry for it.“Why do you doubt so much?"

Its indignation is palpable.“What you tell me has no logic at all.You speak in riddles, and none of them can be solved!”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Yes!It is like I do not know you anymore.”

“You don’t.”I smile softly.“You’ve never seen me in love before.It changed me. _He_ changed me.”

“But how can you be sure?How do you know you aren’t just imagining this?”

“Because he feels it, too.I see it in his face whenever I look at him.”

It crowded me, shoving me back.“What if his face is in shadow?What then?”

“Then I can see it in his actions—how he holds me, how he touches me.I can see it in his fingers when they caress my skin.I can see it when I am naked to him, when I have no defense to him, when he is deep inside me and raises his face to the ceiling and wears bliss like a second skin.”I swallow and hold the image for a few more moments, my heart racing to follow it into the folds of my mind, to layer it with blood and drown in the memory, the anticipation.

“And you trust him?”A snide challenge.

“I do.”

“I thought I taught you to never trust another person.”

I nod contritely.“You did,” I confess to it. 

It sneered at me, savoring its victory in smug silence.

“But that’s not what I’m doing.”I lay my hand on my chest.“I’m Elio.He’s Oliver.It is quite simple:he is more myself than I am.”I examine My Old Life carefully.“You never thought of that, did you?You could never believe such a connection could ever exist.”

It blinked.“I thought you claimed he had been with us since the beginning.”

“I did.He has.”

“But…”It went pale.“But that means I never knew you.That means you were never mine.”

I feel lighter suddenly.“You’re right.You’re absolutely right!”I feel as if my skin were going to peel off and fall to the ground, like it was a suit too small for my frame.

It backed away from me.“You were never mine,” it repeated.It looked ill.“Oh, God…I _was_ always his. _Always_.”Its voice was garbled and faded.

My heart is so light. _Dance.I want to dance_.“Yes!Finally, you see it!”

“Yes,” it drawled.It was sickened.

I look at my watch.“Oh, I need to go!He’ll be waiting for me.”

“You are meeting him?”

I beam, “Yes, I promised.I can’t be late!”

It was done.It was breaking apart, dying fast.“Good-bye, Oliver.I hope you’re ready for what lies ahead.”

I clutch my hands together, giggle, bite my bottom lip in a vain attempt to conceal my smile.“Good-bye!Thank you for…” I am not sure what to say.After all, we had never really gotten along that well.This parting of the ways has been a long time coming.“…for reminding me constantly of what I was missing.”

It looked morose, resigned.“You’re welcome.”It turned away, retreating down the road I had traveled alone.“Enjoy,” it threw back.“Enjoy what I could never give you.”

I wave, laughing out loud for the first time in years.

 

My lashes flutter and there’s a soft pressure on my cheek.“You’re finally here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not think I will ever cease to be attracted to the war that Oliver wages within himself, the one we're never privy to in the original but haunts me still. I am compelled to do what I can to push his advantage to what will bring him the genuine happiness he deserves.
> 
> I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this, and if you have, you might consider reading some of my other works. Again, I'll beg you to let me know what you think for your comments are my blood!


End file.
